


Five + One Things - Boromir

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Immortals of Arda [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who (1963), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Highlander, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Sanctuary (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Five + One Things, GFY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All the various "five things" that I do with this will be set in the "Immortals of Arda" AU - in which Immortals have existed in one form or another since the First Age, and Boromir is one of them. There is a story in progress that will better explain it, when it's finished enough to post.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Five People Boromir Never Met (And One He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> All the various "five things" that I do with this will be set in the "Immortals of Arda" AU - in which Immortals have existed in one form or another since the First Age, and Boromir is one of them. There is a story in progress that will better explain it, when it's finished enough to post.

Helen Magnus (Sanctuary)

  
He had been ever so careful not to seem to court her though he thought her beautiful and worth the effort, for he had no desire to find out what she might think if Druitt challenged him for the affront and he killed her fiance. But he'd been more than happy to spin her stories of the gardens of Imladris and Lothlorien, of plants not seen anywhere else. Of elves and the mearas and men who could not die.  
  
When she arrived, tired and alone and seeking refuge at the gates of Imladris almost a year later - and more than a century later, apparently - he wasn't terribly surprised.  
  


* * *

Anubis (Stargate SG1)

  
There was something satisfying about reducing a being that claimed godhood to nothing but dead flesh and a scattered army, particularly when he could take a greater hand in it than he had done when Sauron had finally fallen. Sometimes, though, he missed the feel of a sword in his hand in battle, for all that he couldn't reasonably work the skill set into this lifetime's hobbies. He simply hadn't had enough time.  
  
However, he doubted that a sword would come in handy against the being currently running around the base and inhabiting people. Although falling on it at the moment might be useful, if he could move a muscle at all. At least then Anubis and he wouldn't be attempting to occupy the same space, and leaving his body on auto-pilot while they failed in the attempt.  
  


* * *

Willow Rosenberg (Buffy)

  
"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," he said with a smile as he brought the young woman's hand to his lips. Willow had been brought by one of the Devon witches to Imladris, and Boromir had gladly allowed them inside when the situation was explained. After all, this was a place of healing, and he doubted Elrond would be upset to learn he'd given a woman who had all the power of one of the Istari - more than any witch of Terra - refuge so she wouldn't become kin to Sauron.  
  


* * *

Severus Snape (Harry Potter)

  
The desire to break the beak of a nose that Snape sported was, as ever, almost more than Boromir could resist. Although this time, at least, he had restraining Haldir from doing just that to distract him from his own desire.  
  


* * *

The Doctor (Doctor Who)

  
"You're late." Boromir didn't even look up from the book he was reading, lounging against the foot of a mallorn while the grinding noise of the TARDIS faded away. "About seven thousand years late. I asked you to return Lady Galadriel's mirror in a timely fashion last time."  
  
He finally looked up, meeting the puzzled gaze of a man with a riot of curls and the longest scarf Boromir had ever seen. Not the face of the Doctor when he'd borrowed the mirror. Earlier, he thought, if he remembered the rapid-fire babble from the first meeting. "Or you could have not met me yet." He sighed, and wondered if mortals who found out about Immortals had such a hard time dealing with them as he had coping with the idea of time travel.  
  


* * *

J.R.R. Tolkien

  
"I miss it, sometimes." Boromir leaned against the wall of the trench, glancing over at the young man he'd been telling about Arda. "Terra is a very different world."  
  
"I would imagine so." The young man looked torn between believing him, and thinking him driven mad by the war.  
  
Boromir chuckled, and straightened a little, thinking about the well-thumbed copy of Bilbo and Frodo's book he had in his pocket, copied out by hand time and again since the changing of the world. After a moment, he took it from his pocket, handing it to the young man. "I'm afraid I don't have a copy in English, but you're welcome to keep this for now. I'll teach you the language it's in if there's time."  
  
He would have time, of course, but the question was more if the mortal had time. Boromir was pleased when he survived, and took Boromir up on the offer to teach him Westron.


	2. Five Women Boromir Married (And One He Didn't)

**Iron Age Celt**

He stood still and silent as she painted symbols on his skin in the blue dye of her people. From his face down across his chest, and along his arms, down his back and around his legs, while he wore naught but a brief cloth wrapped around his loins. The physical armor would be donned after, when she had invested all the magic she knew into his skin.

"Now you are ready to face the invaders, husband." She stood with a faint grimace for the pain of aging joints, though she would have ignored an offer to help her if it had been made. Her hair was already touched with gray, though his was still as dark as the day they met. She said that he was honored by the gods, preserved for some other fate, and had forbade him to leave when it became clear to her he would not age. "Return to me with your shield, or not at all."

* * *

**13th Century Mongol**

She fought with the skill and strength of a shield-maiden of long-lost Rohan, and had all the look of a woman of Khand. He could not give her children, but it never worried her - and she died before the winter came the year he married her, fighting to expand the empire her people were creating across the breadth of Asia.

* * *

**15th Century Burgundian**

He is a man-at-arms in service to a warrior-king with ambitions that encompass all of France. She is a laughing-eyed lady in waiting for the Duchess of Burgundy, who watches him as he follows in the wake of his knight at the court. For her, to marry him will be a loss of status, and he almost is tempted to discourage her flirtation on that alone.

He cannot, in the end, resist the stirrings of his own heart, as well as her quiet words of Burgundian French. When her father refuses to give his permission or blessing, Boromir would have left it aside, save she came to him with nothing but the clothes on her back, soft pleas on her lips.

They live a quiet life in England after, married without the blessing of her family, but happy enough. She never mourns the lack of children, telling him instead, laughter in her eyes, that it means she can have more of him, and never mind the preaching that would call it lust and gluttony and perhaps some other things.

* * *

**18th Century African (tribe unknown)**

They have not a word in common when he first meets her, and stands between her and those who chase her. Paying the man who calls himself her master no little price, and then more again to ensure she will have papers that declare her free of all such horrors. He wants nothing from her for it, though it takes some effort to make her aware of that.

Boromir meets her again nearly fourty years later, living a different man's life, and far enough away from the one he'd met her in that he'd not expected to meet her. She is a widow and a mother, and they share a language now, though her accent is rich with the tones of a homeland she will never see again.

"You are still the same man, no matter that you have a different name." She doesn't seem to be bothered that his face has not changed. "A god-king, without a place to be either."

"I'm neither a god nor a king, and have never wished to be either." Boromir had once, before the Ring, before Amon Hen, before waking in Harad, thought he would be Steward of Gondor, but there is no place since that has made him wish for that sort of rule.

She courts him for nearly three years before they are married, and he finds a family that he hadn't expected to want.

* * *

**21st Century, location uncertain**

He's left behind a lifetime of fame, and found himself a quiet corner of an every-shrinking world to call home, and a woman who thinks his willingness to stay home - to take on a role that still is seen more of a woman's than it is a man's - is part of the appeal. They still hire someone to take care of aspects of housework he cannot (laundry machines still make him wary, but he doesn't have the time to do it by hand with two small children to chase and a horse to keep up with).

It's enough for him to live in the peace of a rural home while his wife supports them, after a life that had made disguising his secrets more difficult than anything in his past. And if their love is a quiet sort more than a grand passion or romance, it's just as well. It's enough.

* * *

**And One He Didn't**

"If I had said I would wed you, would you have been able to do what needed done?" She stood at the window of a tower that no longer existed, looking out over a city she'd never visited. The room they were in had ever been bare to his knowledge, meant to hold the palantir, though now it was furnished as a bower.

He pushed up on one elbow, watching the familiar-unfamiliar line of her back, half-hidden by a robe pulled around her. Something light and nearly translucent that never would have been warm enough where they were.

"I don't know." He was dressed in naught but the sheet that tangled about his legs, as he always was in this dream.

"You would have fought him, and lost, and I would have followed. We'd have been lost, memories stripped away until we were but a shadow in the back of his mind, easily ignored." She looked over her shoulder, gray eyes ever disconcerting against dusky skin and black hair. "It is better this way."


	3. Five Times Boromir Did His Laundry and One Time He Bought New Clothes Instead

There is no one he can pay to do his laundry here, where he and Methos are the only two for at least a day's ride. He doesn't particularly enjoy the chore, but he likes less having nothing fit to wear, and he is familiar enough with the methods of doing so. Once the dirt is beaten from his clothes in the water of the river, he spreads them over rocks to dry, and takes the opportunity to bathe.

* * *

The quiet of the mountain halls he'd followed Thorin into is eerie, and the thickness of the dust a quiet tribute to those who had slowly faded with the fading of Arda. It's also an excellent way of turning once-clean tunics into filthy garments in desperate need of cleaning.

It takes them three days to figure out where the laundry had been when Erebor had been a kingdom of life, and another to be sure they're not going to destroy their clothes in cleaning them. At least there's no one else to care if they go without clothes until their own are cleaned.

* * *

Normandy mud is stubborn, and near-impossible to completely wash free of his clothes, no matter how much he pounds the tunic against a rock. There are laundry-women among the camp followers, but Boromir would rather clean his own clothes, and have a few hours to himself - even if he isn't the only soldier with that idea, and none of them are truly alone.

* * *

He doesn't even take his shirt or breeches off before he pours the bucket of blessedly cool water over his head. Boromir knows it will mean salt in his clothes, but better salt than blood, even if that blood is his own. Especially if that blood is his own. He'll scrub them properly once they're back in port, and he can find freshwater that isn't drinking water.

* * *

In the frontier town, he could pay someone to do his laundry for him, but washing his own clothes has become a habit that Boromir is loathe to break, even if the tools have changed over the millennia. A tub and a washboard at least mean he can do his clothing in the privacy of his home, and not have to take it to the nearest stream or lake.

* * *

**And One Time He Bought New Clothes**

"Have someone take this infernal machine out." Boromir gives the washing machine a vicious glare, though he refrains from kicking it at the moment. His boots are in the other room, anyway, and it's more effort than the infuriating thing is worth.

"What did you do, Sean?"

"The washing machine ate my clothes." It's the only way he can describe the mangled mess that had been a perfectly useable load of shirts and trousers when he put it into the machine. That would still be useable clothing if he'd had a laundry sink and a washboard - and time enough to do his laundry himself.

There's a choked sound on the other end of the call, and Boromir rolls his eyes at the obvious amusement.

"Just deal with it. Please?"

"Always. Just find something to wear for today, and go. I'll have someone over to take care of the washing machine later."

"Thank you."

Boromir ends the call before taking another look at the mess in the washing machine. He's managed to avoid the bloody things until now, but with no one else to take care of the laundry, he'd thought it wouldn't be too difficult. Follow the directions, and leave the clothes to be washed without supervision. He's not sure where he went wrong.

"Infernal machine," he mutters before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don't know what he did to the washing machine. Or why it ate his clothes.


End file.
